


Psalm 139

by ialpiriel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Post-Season/Series 08 Finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-07
Updated: 2013-08-21
Packaged: 2017-12-22 16:57:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/915719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ialpiriel/pseuds/ialpiriel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas, Dean, and Charlie go hunt a manananggal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I'm Not Moping

Sam was set up in the new recliner, laptop on a side table to his right and a pile of books and a remote control to his left. Dean and Charlie had, with two weeks trapped inside after being followed to the bunker by some sort of bugaboo they didn't know, built a rudimentary robot out of spare parts and a webcam. Since Dean couldn't keep Sam in bed, this was the next best thing - Sam could use the robot to find and retrieve books out of the library without lifting a finger himself. Kevin sat at the table reading.  
Cas had staggered in weeks after falling, having walked the whole way back. He had looked like hell warmed over, and had spent another two weeks recuperating under Dean's ministrations. Sam had made subtle little jabs at how tenderly Dean cared for everyone in the bunker, much to Dean's chagrin. Dean had caught on to all of them, and had either given Sam a stink eye or had cussed him out. Cas, thankfully, had not picked up on nearly so many, although he had picked up on more of them than Dean would have liked.  
After Cas had managed to get out of bed, he had rushed to please any and all of the humans in the bunker. He even acted mildly frightened of Kevin, who acted the same toward him. Dean got him a notebook and a pencil and had ordered him to write down everything he could about falling, both in general and in his specific case. Sam had reassured Cas that, if writing about it was still too painful, he could take his time. Cas had managed four pages in cramped, awkward, something-that-looked-sort-of-like-Enochian-if-you-squinted-hard-enough, put down his pencil and notebook, and hadn't picked them back up. Sam and Dean had both left it at that. Now, he mostly got books for Sam or Kevin and translated Enochian.  
Six weeks after the angels fell, Dean decided it was high time they left the bunker.  
"You've gotta stop moping, Cas. Let us help find a way to fix it."  
"I'm not moping, Dean," was always the testy reply.

Sam was still frustrated with his sidelining, but in the meantime, he had gotten a fantastic amount of research done. He had also been finding hunts.  
Six weeks after the fall - a month after Cas had returned - he dug up a hunt at Dean's request.  
"There's been a spate of deaths in Boulder, Colorado. Only pregnant women, and they've all got pretty serious wounds on their abdomens. All the fetuses - or at least the ones they've autopsied - have been missing their hearts." Sam cocked his head and gave a smile that wasn't real.  
"No shapeshifter we've ever dealt with." Dean supplied the obvious.  
"Looking at the lore, I don't think we've dealt with one before, no. Lore suggests it's a _manananggal."_  
"A mana-what?" Dean's eyebrows shot up.  
"A _manananggal_ ," Cas said. "Filipino in origin. Eats the hearts of unborn children."  
Dean gave Cas a concerned look "And how do you know that?"  
"Sam sent me to get the book, and I paged through it on my way back."  
Dean made his I-should-have-guessed face.  
"So how do we kill it?"  
"Well, it splits in two at night, and its top half flies around eating hearts. You just need to find her lower half and salt the spot where she reconnects to keep her from reattaching. Shouldn't be too hard of a hunt. Why don't you two take Charlie along? She'd want in on it. If you drive fast, you can make it to Boulder by nightfall."  
"C'mon Cas, let's go." Dean trotted toward his bedroom.  
"Dean, I've never - "  
"Three shirts and your toothbrush and deodorant. And whatever weaponry you want to bring along. There's salt in the car." Dean disappeared down the hall into his bedroom. Cas followed, much more slowly.  
Five minutes later, Dean went past with his duffel over one shoulder. Five minutes after that, Cas peered around his doorframe and asked Sam if he could borrow Sam's duffel bag, as he didn't have one of his own.  
"Sure thing. It's in the closet."  
"Thank you Sam."  
Cas came back five minutes later with Sam's loaded duffel.  
"Dean is already out in the car," Sam told him. "Call if you need anything."  
"I will, Sam," Cas replied solemnly.  
Outside, Dean was already in the Impala, scowling at the radio, which was playing Bon Jovi on one station, ads on another, and some sort of pop music on a third. Dean switched it off. Cas tossed his (Sam's) duffel in the trunk, and slid into the shotgun seat.  
"You ready to go?" Dean asked.  
"Yes, Dean." Cas replied.  
They pulled out of the driveway, and out onto the interstate.  
Back in the bunker, Sam picked up his phone and dialed Charlie.  
"They're on their way to Des Moines, New Mexico, to pick you up, and then you're off to Boulder to hunt down a _manananggal_. Pack the salt."  
"Got it." Charlie's phone clicked off.

Neither Dean nor Cas spoke much on the trip to Des Moines. For the most part, Dean's collection of tapes filled the silence, at least after they hit the New Mexico border and the radio signal petered out. Dean rolled down his window once they hit desert. Cas stared out his window at the scenery rolling past at eighty miles an hour.

Des Moines was large enough to have a half dozen motels outside of town. They found Charlie's obscenely yellow car parked outside one called "The Whitehorse Inn." She was sitting on its hood.  
Cas was momentarily distracted by the graphic painting of a hanged sailor painted on the sign by the scummy swimming pool. Dean decided this motel was approximately twice as sleazy as the ones they usually stayed at, and that was saying something.  
Dean rolled down his window, but before he could say anything, Charlie piped up.  
"The motel's got a slight ghost problem. Should just be a salt-and-burn."  
"Then why didn't you just do it?"  
"Should have been. I need you to work your Winchester charm on an old lady who still owns a lock of the deceased's hair."  
"Alright, fine, where does she live?"  
"Not far, but she's already gone to bed."  
"It's nine o'clock. The sun isn't even down yet," Dean replied to prove his point.  
"Old ladies, Dean," Charlie shot back. "You might as well come in. There's room for both of you in my room."  
"Thank you, Charlie," Cas said. He got out of the car without waiting for Dean.  
"You look a lot better than when I last saw you. I see they took you shopping. You're lucky to have something other than flannel."  
"Dean insisted I buy something other than a flannel shirt." Cas plucked at the white cotton shirt and shrugged.  
"Good for him. Coming, Dean?" Charlie asked as Cas got his duffel from the trunk, then grabbed Dean's too after a moment's thought.  
Dean grunted and got out of the car. Cas held out his duffel, and Dean snatched it away.  
Charlie opened the motel door, and Dean stopped dead in the doorway. Cas craned his neck to see over Dean's shoulder.  
"Enough space? Charlie, there's one bed," Dean squawked.  
"And a sofa," Cas pointed out.  
"One bed and a sofa," Dean corrected. "We have three people. How did you plan on making that work?"  
Charlie put on her most innocent face.  
"Well, since it's morally improper from ladies and gentlemen to share beds without being married, I figured I would sleep on the sofa, and you two could-"  
"No. I've got my bedroll in the Impala. Cas, you take the bed." Dean headed back out to the Impala. Charlie looked to Cas, who shrugged.

Charlie hadn't slept well - Cas snored, against all odds, and Dean was a restless enough sleeper to disturb everyone else in the room - so she wasn't surprised when she was awakened by the quiet sounds of someone moving around. She waited to see who it was - Cas wasn't snoring, but neither was Dean moving.  
"I know you're awake, Charlie," Cas said. His voice was quiet.  
"How could you tell?" she whispered.  
"Your breathing changed. Having spent time observing other sleepers, and observing myself, that usually means you're awake. It's two-nineteen AM, before you ask."  
"Why are you awake?"  
"I often have difficulty sleeping more than a few hours a night. I spend the extra time reading or retraining my vessel." Cas was standing by the bed in pajamas - a shirt that looked like it had belonged to Sam at some point in the past, and a pair of plain black boxers.  
"Oh." Charlie sat up, yawned, and blinked a few times. "Retraining from what?"  
"Before the fall, angels didn't need to learn how to use their vessels. After, they need to relearn how their vessels work. They are also much weaker than before. I'm relearning the offensive and defensive moves I was born knowing."  
"Can you show me a few?" Charlie swung her feet around to rest on the floor.  
"Of course." Cas ran through a few moves, first slowly, then quickly, then slowly again. Charlie stood up and did her best to mimic his movements. "You do them very well."  
"I'm a fast learner." Charlie sat back down.  
"I can show you more of them later. You should be sleeping."  
"What about you?" Charlie yawned. "By the way, you sound just like Dean when he gets into one of his moods."  
"I'm going to stay up and read for a while. I brought a book to read in case of insomnia."  
"What book?"  
"Dean suggested the 'Lord of the Rings' trilogy, because it made no mention of Earth history and is considered one of the best pieces of fantastic literature of the twentieth century. I read 'The Hobbit' as well, after Sam told me it was a prequel to the three main books."  
"Which book are you on?" Charlie yawned and lay back down. She pulled the blanket over herself.  
"I'm nearly done with 'Return of the King.'"  
"We'll have to talk about them sometime then." Charlie snuggled into her blanket. Cas remained standing at his bedside.  
Charlie had to admit, it was a little disconcerting to fall asleep with Cas still standing there, back ramrod straight and eyes fixed on you like he could project some sort of force field around you.

It was four AM. Cas had finished "Return of the King," and had left a note on his pristinely-made bed, in case Charlie or Dean woke up and went looking for him. He had his awfully-battered cell phone along, because Dean was uptight about that sort of thing. Dean was also uptight about going for walks, alone, at four AM, in strange cities, without any "angel mojo." Cas figured he had been a warrior since the beginning of time, watched earth and her hairless apes for millennia, had inhabited one of the hairless apes for years, and was comfortable enough in Jimmy Novak's skin to defend himself fairly well. He had a pair of hunting knives along that Dean had given him - both silver edged, one with a salt reservoir and one with a holy water reservoir in the hilts, and the hilt itself made of wood and pointed, to form a stake. They were the hunter equivalents of multitools, and they worked just fine on regular humans beside all the nasties.  
The streets around the hotel were empty except for scattered homeless and scatterbrained drunks. One prostitute hollered at Cas, but he had walked past after giving her twenty-six dollars from his wallet. She thanked him and backed away quickly.  
Most of the walk was quiet, lonely, and chilly, and Cas used it to pray and beg forgiveness for past and current wrongs.  
He never got a direct answer - not that he ever had - and on especially lonely nights, he would try to tune into angel radio. nothing ever came of it, but he held onto the remaining sliver of hope that some angels had regained their grace and were trying to help those still fallen. He doubted that any of those remaining were that selfless anymore.  
Cas got back to the motel room at five AM. Neither Charlie nor Dean was awake yet. He changed back into his pajamas, laid his clothes out, crumpled up the note, and slid back under the covers as if he had never left.


	2. Cas Does Some Math

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Team Free Will (or at least this contingency of it) makes it to Boulder, and begins the hunt. Also, Cas does some math.

While Dean charmed the necklace from the old woman - her name was Lucinda - with stories of his "Aunt Ellen" and how she had a necklace just like that one, Cas studied the bookshelf. Most of the books didn't interest him - there were self-help books, diet books, books on local history. He was intrigued by the books of folktales and the family bible.  
"Ma'am?" he asked, interrupting Dean's story about the time his "Aunt Ellen" had taken a junker from his fathers scrapyard and wrestled it onto the roof of a "rowdy customer." Cas remembered no such incident. "May I look at your family bible?"  
"Of course, dear. Are you interested in local family history?"  
"I'm interested in bibles." Cas flipped it open to Psalm 139, "Search Me, O God, and Know My Heart." It was one of his favorites to hum to himself when he was alone. It made him feel a little more fallible, but a little more repentant as well. It was a good combination for asking forgiveness for idiotic things.  
"He's a religion major at the college," Dean covered for him as the old woman gave Cas an if-you-say-so-sweetheart look. "Real big on religious history. He's got a whole collection of old bibles back at his house. Takes up a whole shelf."  
"There's a book dealer downtown who has a whole bunch of bibles for sale. You might want to take a look if you're interested. I'm sure he'd be happy for the company."  
"Thank you, I think I will." Cas smiled at the old woman out of politeness. He flipped ahead to Ecclesiastes.  
Dean returned to his story, and after another hour - and snacks - they left with the locket and the hair. They burned it before lunch, and loaded everything into the Impala - including Charlie's backpack and laptop bag - before dropping by a diner on their way out of town. Charlie sat in the back. They left town, heading up Highway 325.

Charlie played twenty questions with Cas, who invariably won whether he was asking or being asked questions. After an hour of laughing at Charlie's misfortune, Dean joined in. Even with his and Charlie's combined brainpower they couldn't beat Cas. Eventually they gave up.  
They were all quiet for twenty minutes before Cas spoke up.  
"Dean, we never went to that bookseller's."  
"We'll have to go back to get Charlie back to her car. We can go then."  
"Thank you." Cas went back to staring out the window.  
"So Cas, did you finish 'Return of the King' last night?" Charlie leaned over the back of the front seat.  
"Yes. I found the whole series enjoyable. Dean showed me the movies while I was in bed, so I knew what to expect."  
"You showed him the movies first?" Charlie squawked at Dean, who scowled back at her.  
"I hadn't found the books yet! And TV is a lot more mindless than reading. He'd barely figured out going to sleep before you start hallucinating at that point."  
"It's true. I slept through significant portions of all three movies."  
"I guess that's slightly more acceptable." Charlie scowled at the back of Dean's head. Dean flipped on the radio. Blue Öyster Cult blared from the speakers.  
Dean bobbed his head along with the song, even singing along at one point, while Charlie shook her head in the background and Cas hummed Psalm 143 to himself.

Their motel room in Boulder had two beds and a sofa. Dean claimed the bed closer to the outside door, and Charlie and Cas milled uncertainly around the other.  
"Would one of you just claim it? We've got a couple hours before nightfall and we have to hunt this motherfucker down. We have to find it first." Dean pulled out a map and pinned it up. He pushed pins into the victims locations, and tossed file folders on each of the victims onto the bed. "Find any connections you can outside the fact they're all pregnant. We know what it is, we just don't know where or who it's going after next."  
"All those houses are within twenty miles of each other. We're working with a ten mile radius," Charlie contributed.  
"That's still a lot of houses. Maybe..."  
"Approximately one thousand," Cas interjected before Dean had time to do the math. "If you estimate ten percent of households have a pregnant woman in them, that's one hundred houses to check. That's one hundred, and those are probably in social groups - a book club, or their children are friends, or they're on the neighborhood watch committee. If you subtract the thirteen women who have been victimized so far, that leaves you with eighty-seven homes. Still unmanageable, but a little more reasonable. If we can find a connection between those thirteen and apply that to our remaining eighty seven, we can start in their social group or groups, and go from there." Cas rattled it all off with minimal breathing.  
"Let's start with the schools. Those are a suburb thing, aren't they?" Dean directed. Papers were spread over the bed and sorted without further ado, first according to school of their children (and they all had children) but then by grade when it turned out they were all from the same school. All of the kids turned out to be in third or fourth grade.  
Charlie got lists of all the parents of third and fourth graders, then hacked into the computer systems of the Ob/Gyn offices she could and cross-checked for names. Exactly one woman who fit all the criteria was located.  
"Now we just need to figure out how to repel the thing," Charlie huffed. "Salt?"  
"Perhaps. It's worth a shot." Cas frowned. "As is blocking doors and windows to prevent it from getting in."  
"So what are we?" Charlie asked Dean.  
"FBI. We received a tip she's next on the serial killer's list. We're there to keep her safe."  
"In plainclothes?"  
"Hey, you can't expect a man to be in a suit all the time."  
"Good point." Charlie agreed. Cas didn't bother to point out how he had worn the same suit five years running and that it was now hanging in his closet with irremovable dirt, blood, and grass stains.  
"Let's go. Guns?" Dean asked.  
"Check." "Check." Cas and Charlie both unloaded and reloaded their handguns. Cas tucked his into a holster, Charlie put hers in a shoulder bag.  
"Knives?"  
"Check." "Check." Cas patted one hunting knife at his hip and lifted his boot to indicate the other tucked into it. Charlie pulled hers out of her bag.  
"Salt?"  
"In the trunk," Cas replied.  
"Let's go."  
The sun was setting, and Dean floored the accelerator as soon as they were all in the car.

"Hello Mrs. Harvey." Dean gave the woman a tight smile and flashed his badge. "FBI. These are agents Waters," he jerked his thumb at Cas and tucked his badge away, "And Hunter," he jerked his thumb at Charlie. "I'm agent Scott. We received a tip that you may be the next intended victim of the serial killer."  
"I'm what?" All the color drained from her face, and she wobbled on her feet.  
"You may be the next victim. He's targeting pregnant women with children in third or fourth grade. You're the only remaining individual fitting that description. We've been sent to keep you safe and to arrest him if he shows up." Cas told her flatly. Dean made his best I'll-fuck-their-shit-up-don't-worry look ,and Cas and Charlie were both trying. neither was nearly as successful.  
'Well, uh, do come in. The kids are asleep, please be quiet."  
"Of course Mrs. Harvey." Dean put on his most charming smile and wiped his feet on the mat as he stepped inside.  
"Just sit here." She waved them into the living room, which was sparsely furnished with stiff, unused-looking furniture. Dean and Charlie both sat on a leather sofa, and Cas sat in a low-backed, long-seated chair that was upholstered in orange vinyl. He and Charlie sat stiffly, while Dean relaxed back into the sofa. "Do you need coffee? Tea? Anything?"  
"No, but thank you ma'am."  
"Agent Waters? Agent Hunter?"  
"Nothing, thank you," Cas replied.  
"Coffee, if you already have it on, please." Charlie chirped.  
"Are you sure you two don't want anything?"  
"We'll be fine, thank you ma'am."  
Mrs. Harvey poured a cup of coffee for Charlie, and brought it to her black. Charlie blew on it.  
"So you think I'm-"  
"Yes. We'll be outside watching for him. We need you to lock your doors and windows, and make sure all of them are boarded over or blocked with something heavy, in case he manages to evade us. Upstairs too."  
'That's all you need me to do?"  
"Yes ma'am. Try to stay calm, no matter what happens. We won't let him hurt you. We'll be right outside. If we have to chase him, Agent Hunter will be staying here with you to make sure he doesn't come back."  
'Thank you so much." Mrs. Harvey looked close to tears.  
"It's only our job, ma'am." Dean gave her the dontcha-gotta-love-it shake of his head. "Let's head outside, you two. Keep your eyes open." Dean stood up, and Cas and Charlie followed him, Charlie still clutching her mug of coffee. Outside, Charlie turned to Dean  
"You're going to leave me alone here? Against something we don't know how to defend against? Are you nuts?"  
"Shoot it with salt. If that doesn't work, get back inside and barricade everything. We'll take care of it otherwise. For now we have to wait."  
The three of them sat down on the stylish wooden front steps, watching the slowly-darkening sky.


	3. Chicken Coop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The _manananggal_ shows up, and things go down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should've posted this a couple days ago.

They were quiet for half an hour, carefully scanning the sky for any sign of movement. Cas hummed the thirtieth psalm as quietly as he could manage, which was pretty quietly.  
"What is that?" Dean finally asked after the fifth hum-through.  
"The thirtieth psalm." Cas replied, and dove right back into it.  
"You can sing the psalms?" Dean was incredulous.  
"Yes Dean, I can sing the psalms."  
'That doesn't... doesn't bother you to sing things from the Bible?"  
"It's a minor source of comfort. David wrote them directly to my father, and none of us interceded. Oftentimes the messages contained are fitting. I know them all by heart, which is much more than can be said of your music."  
In the backseat, Charlie grinned.  
"How many of them are there? Aren't there like a million?" Dean asked, not bothering to object to the "your music" comment.  
"There are one hundred and fifty. It's not a difficult number to remember."  
"I don't think I've ever heard you sing them before.. When did you start?"  
"After I fell." Cas didn't elaborate, and squinted harder at the sky. Dean dropped the subject. Charlie picked up one of its tangents.  
"Which one is your favorite?"  
"Psalm 139."  
"How does that one go?"  
"'O Lord you have searched me and known me. You know when I sit down and when I rise up; you discern my thoughts from afar. You search out my path and my lying down and are acquainted with all my ways. Even before a word is on my tongue, behold, O Lord, you know it altogether.' It goes on. That's one English translation. There are other translations I like better. It's very beautiful in Enochian." Cas started humming again. He prodded at the artfully crushed gravel lining the sidewalk in front of the house with a twig off a nearby shrub. Both knives lay within easy reach. Dean watched Cas's hands like they were someone else's that had just been sewn onto Cas's arms, Frankenstein's-monster-style.  
"Hey Cas?"  
"Hmm?" Cas glanced up at Dean and went back to prodding at the gravel.  
"Do you-"  
There was a screech from the sky, and Charlie was firing her gun at a dark shape moving up the street, thirty feet in the air. Bat wings could vaguely be made out, and legs weren't anywhere to be seen.  
Charlie emptied a few more bullets into it. Dean and Cas both quickly followed suit.  
The manananggal slowed down once its wings were riddled with holes, but it didn't stop. It just kept coming, bobbing up and down. Dean hefted the shotgun of salt rounds and began firing.  
Each round that hit made it scream louder.  
Charlie took five seconds to check the front door. Mrs. Harvey was standing right behind it, her nose pressed to the glass. Charlie rapped on the glass and pointed toward the stairs when Mrs. Harvey met her eyes. Mrs. Harvey scuttled off, and Charlie turned back toward the fray.  
The manananggal as nearly on top of them now. Dean was still firing at it, and it was steadily slowing down, but it still wasn't stopping - and it was headed straight for Dean.

Dean knew exactly what he was doing. He had read the case file. Manananggal didn't exclusively eat fetal hearts. They drank adult blood if they had to, and that was the plan - make it angry enough to get it to try to kill him, and lure it around town for hours, to keep it away from anyone else it might hurt. If they were lucky they could find where it lived, too, and get this whole thing over with. Dean was glad it was July so they only had to do this for a few hours.  
He and Cas - at least he assumed Cas - sprinted to the Impala. He dove across the front seat as the manananggal crashed into the door behind him. She shrieked and clawed at the glass. Cas got into the back seat, and now Dean was sure it was Cas because he shouted "DRIVE!" without any mention of seatbelts. The Impala roared to life, and Dean cracked the windows. The manananggal curled her fingers through the open space and grasped for the door handle. Dean floored the accelerator and roared away from the house. The manananggal followed.

Charlie banged on the front door, and Mrs. Harvey threw it open.  
"That wasn't a serial killer! That was a- a- a-"  
"Manananggal. It's a kind of Filipino witch vampire. It shouldn't come back now if we've done our jobs correctly. We need to keep doors and windows locked for now, though, in case they can't get rid of it."  
"How do you get rid of it?" Mrs. Harvey plopped into a chair in the kitchen.  
"Wait it out until morning. Sunlight kills it. They're good at this. They can do it. It's going to be okay." Charlie patted the woman on the shoulder. Mrs. Harvey collapsed into a sobbing mess. Charlie patted her on the shoulder again and looked around for the coffeepot.

As far as Dean could tell, the mananaggal was still riding on top of the impala. The shrieking of fingernails against metal had quit, although the occasional screech or squeal of frustration from it assured him it was still there. They had been at this an hour now, and they had six more to go.  
"Cas ,we need to find those legs."  
"I'm thinking, Dean."  
"About what?"  
"She was traveling at approximately thirty miles per hour when she appeared, and slowed considerably. It couldn't have been dark for more than fifteen minutes. She couldn't live more than seven and a half miles away at tha speed and that time."  
"Seven miles is a helluva lot of space, Cas!"  
"That's why I'm thinking Dean! We need someone who raises chickens."  
"What? Chickens?"  
"One of the ways to become a manananggal. It involves a chicken. Look for chicken coops!"  
"You look for chicken coops! I'm trying to drive!" As if to highlight his point, Dean swerved around a jogger, who froze in terror.  
"Pull the car over, Dean."  
"What?"  
"I have an idea."  
"A what? What are you going to do?"  
"Catch a ride."  
"Not happening."  
"Yes it is Dean. I've got an angel blade, and if that can't kill a manananggal, I don't think salt will either."  
"So you're just going to stab it?"  
"In self-defense, if I have to. She's after you, Dean, not me."  
"I'm not going to let you do that, Cas."  
"And how are you going to stop me? We're going fifty, Cas, you can't survive a fall like that."  
"Watch me."  
Cas rolled down the window and whistled much louder than Dean thought he could've. Immediately a shaggy-haired, red-eyed, screeching face appeared in it. Cas grabbed the manananggal by the hair, and she reared her head back. Hh held on. She flailed backward - across the top of the Impala - until Cas was half-dragged out of the window, still holding on. Dean had slowed considerably, yelling the whole way.  
"What the hell are you doing? You're gonna get yourself killed! Let go!"  
"Dean!" Cas shouted. "Shut up, would you?"  
"No!" Dean slammed on the brakes, sending everyone jerking forward. The manananggal flopped to the ground outside the car, and then was up and away, still dragging Cas out the window. As soon as he had cleared the door, she took off - straight up. Cas was still holding on, though his grip had shifted from fists in her hair to his arms wrapped around her neck from behind. His legs dangled behind them. Dean was out of the car in a flash.  
"Cas!"  
"I had wings!" Cas shot back. "Wings, Dean! I understand how to fly!"  
The manananggal flapped wildly, still gaining altitude. She was over the roofs now, and Dean stood frozen in place.  
There was no way for Cas to get down safely. No chance in hell and especially not one in heaven that he was going to get down from there without at least a serious - most likely career-ending - injury.  
Cas was yelling.  
"Dean! Dean! Two blocks over and the third house from the north! Chicken coop! Only one I can see! GO!"  
Dean jumped into the Impala and forced himself to drive over to the house. He tried the front door, found it locked, and figured he had nothing to lose, especially not time. He broke in a window.  
There was indeed a pair of legs and torso up to the waist - clothed in hip purple pajama pants - standing in the middle of the living room.  
"Shitty place to leave your legs," he muttered. He dumped the box of salt on the open wound where the rest of the manananggal would attach, and threw the box to the side. He ran back outside.  
Cas was still in the sky. The manananggal was now doing loop-the-loops trying to throw him off, but they were at least a little lower. Still not get-out-of-it-with-only-a-scratch-and-a-good-story low, but maybe only-broken-leg low.  
"Cas!" Dean yelled.  
"Dawn!" Cas yelled back.  
"What are we-"  
Cas and the manananggal fell like a brick.  
Dean drove the three blocks over in record time.  
Cas and the manananggal were both on the ground - she over Cas trying to claw out his eyeballs and suck his blood with a horrible prehensile tongue, and he fending her off with the holy water knife and an obviously broken hand and arm. She had what looked like a broken wing. Both of them were covered in blood, although it was impossible to tell whose was whose.  
Dean hauled the manananggal off Cas and got a faceful of broken wing for his efforts.  
"Get the rope," Cas ordered. "We can pinion her until dawn. Or at least long enough to get our wind back."  
"You get the fucking rope, I'm wresting a bat woman!"  
Cas staggered as quickly as he could to the trunk of the Impala. He hauled the coil of rope over to where Dean was now wrestling the manananggal. He had managed to pin her down, but it was a precarious thing. Cas got the rope around one of her wings, and pushed Dean away. As she the manananggal tried to leap up, Cas got the rope all the way around her. Dean wasn't sure how he did it - Cas wasn't even sure how he did it.  
He cinched it tight, and she flailed and screamed. Dean tied her hands a moment later, and Cas wrapped the rope around her wings a few more times. When she was trussed, Dean dug through the trunk and found an old bloodstained shirt. He wound one sleeve into a gag and put it on the manananggal.  
"Can we stick her in the backseat? We can just lock her in some room of her house for now. I'm going to pass out soon." Cas mumbled. His voice sounded raw, and now that they were out of immediate danger - the manananggal writhing on the ground was more comical than fear-inspiring when she was tied up - Dean could see just how badly Cas was beat up. He knew he himself wasn't in great shape - she had attacked him nails-first after he had shotgunned her a half dozen times - but Cas looked like shit. The whole left side of his face - which was also the side with the pulverized hand and arm, and the most clothing damage - was swelling up already.  
"Yeah Cas. You go sit in the front seat, I'll get her in. Take it easy. We'll get back to her place, and we can do emergency first aid, and at dawn we can get you to the hospital."  
"My friends dared me to ride Sam's my Aunt Ellen's motorcycle, and I fell off."  
"That ain't road rash. You fell off the roof after your drunk friends dared you to climb your Aunt Ellen's roof."  
"Okay." Cas had limped over to the Impala, and now slumped into the front seat. Dean heaved the manananggal into the backseat, still squalling, and then got into the driver's seat.  
"You gonna pass out?"  
"I don't think so. Let's take her home, and get you washed up, and then let's go. You, uh, you weren't drinking and weren't part of the daring. You're Ellen's nephew and we all just call her aunt."  
"Sounds good."


	4. Frozen Peas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things wrap up.

In the end, they locked her in a bedroom. Cas called Charlie and had her come keep an eye on the bedroom door - they didn't expect anything, not with her trussed up like that, but it wouldn't hurt to be safe. Cas leant Charlie the angel blade just in case something did happen. Dean changed into a different shirt and washed his face, and then drove Cas to the hospital.  
In the emergency room, Cas was rushed in to see a doctor, checked in under the name "Sid Waters." Dean came along with him, citing "feeling morally responsible." One of the nurses - who Dean did his best to not flirt with - cleaned Cas up after getting his medical information. Cas flinched every time she touched him.  
"Do you have another set of clothes? These are ruined," she informed Cas.  
"I've got a set back at home."  
"Mr. Scott, so you think you could go get them for Mr. Waters here? He's at the very least got a compound fracture in his ulna, and it's looking like his hand is probably broken as well."  
"Yeah, I can go get those. Don't hit on any of the nurses, Sid my man. Take it easy, I'll be back in a few."  
Dean sped all the way back to the motel, and then all the way back to the hospital.  
Cas was sitting in the waiting room, arm in a bright orange cast and held in a sling, bare-chested but at least still wearing pants. He had a plastic bag that, on further inspection, proved to be carrying his bloody shirt.  
"Carrie suggested I put a bag of frozen peas over my eye." He made a vague gesture toward his left eye, which was swollen shut and surrounded with bandages besides.  
"Yeah, it works pretty well. Can you walk very well?"  
"Okay," was Cas's reply. He took his duffel from Dean and pulled out another shirt, identical to the one now covered in quickly-drying blood. "I've been able to walk better, but I can make it to the car if that's what you mean." Cas pulled his shirt on one-handed and left his cast arm underneath it. "Let's go."  
Cas had to lean heavily against Dean on their way out to the Impala, and once in, he slumped against the door and was asleep by the time they got back to the mananananggal's house, where Charlie was flipping through channels on TV.  
"Nothing, and the sun's coming up, so I think we're going to be good. Where's Cas?" she asked.  
"He's asleep in the car. I think he's probably doped up on pain meds."  
"After that, I'm not surprised."  
A scream, even less human than the ones made mere hours before, ripped through the house as the pastel dawn light broke. There was a sound of sizzling, and the legs - still standing in the living room like some sort of macabre end table - fizzled into nothing. The torso followed shortly after with a sound like frying bacon. The whole house smelled vaguely of burning flesh, and Charlie and Dean vacated it as soon as they knew the manananggal was gone.

Back at the motel, Dean carried Cas in after spending five minutes shaking his shoulder, yelling his name, and checking for a pulse just in case. Charlie promised herself to not tease him about it. She figured she was allowed to tell Sam, though, and surreptitiously took a picture and sent it to him with no explanation.  
Charlie took the sofa for the second time in a row.

It was nine o'clock, and Dean couldn't sleep. It was too light out, and the whole room reflected it too well. He pulled the omnipresent bible out of the bedstand drawer and flipped to Psalms, and then scanned the book for Psalm 139. When he found it, he went and sat on the hood of the Impala and read through it five times. He set the bible down, thought about the psalm for a good long while, picked the bible up, read through it again, and closed the bible. He went back inside and tried to fall asleep.

It was noon and every one of Cas's nerves were on fire. He couldn't see out of his left eye, couldn't move his left arm, and his left hip and left knee and left everything else hurt.  
From what he could tell no one else was awake.  
He assumed he had been helped in; he didn't remember walking in.  
He craned his neck to see what time it was, and set off another wave of fire down his neck and into his spine and over his shoulders and all the way down into his tailbone. The groan escaped his mouth before he could muffle it.  
Dean was immediately awake and at his side.  
"Don't try to move. She did a number on you last night. You were pumped way up on pain meds last night. I've got some back in the Impala and more at the bunker. You ready to go?"  
"I think," Cas managed. "I'm packed, get Charlie up and out before you try to get me to go."  
"Can do, man. Get ready." Then, louder, "Charlie! Rise and shine! It's time to head back to the good ol' bunker!"  
Charlie reluctantly got up and repacked her backpack and laptop bag. She carried those out to the Impala, and Dean carried both duffel bags out, then helped Cas limp out to the car.  
He let Cas choose the radio stations all the way home.


	5. Where You Can Get It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An extra tidbit about the trip home. It's more like an epilogue than a real extra chapter.

The bookstore was, unsurprisingly, packed full of books. Cas limped away into them before Dean could warn him to watch out for his leg. Dean stayed standing uncomfortably in the doorway.  
"Hello, sir, can I help you?" The woman behind the counter eyed Dean with the look common to shopkeepers who have been stolen from a few too many times  
"My friend is back there somewhere. He's looking for bibles."  
She craned her neck. "He seems to be doing okay." She turned back to Dean, fixing him with a critical eye. "What about you?"  
"Oh, I'll just wait for him. I don't need anything."  
"You look really familiar." She squinted at him through glasses.  
"I get that a lot."  
"You're...I was warned about you."  
"Me?"  
"Yeah. Dean Winchester, right? My hunters have warned me to keep an eye out for you. Said you get into trouble easily."  
"We just killed a manananggal up in Boulder. Mostly bloodless."  
"My name is Josephine Santeria. I'm the Southwest equivalent of Bobby Singer."  
"You knew Bobby?"  
"Everybody knew Bobby. Now you looking to buy something or are you going to stand there and gape all afternoon?"  
"I'll, uh. Do you have any discounts for hunters?"  
"I might." Josephine began restacking a pile of books on the checkout counter.  
"My brother. He does a lot of research. Do you have any good old books?"  
"I'll see what I can dig up. Go keep your friend from breaking anything."  
"He'd die before he broke anything."  
Josephine looked at him through her eyelashes.  
"Go. I'll find you a book."  
Dean went to find Cas.  
Cas had already set up in the "religious texts" section of the bookstore. He had a short stack of bibles - three of them - a pile of what looked to be Hindu texts, and a very short stack of Buddhist texts. He was holding something that was written in some sort of characters. Dean thought it might have been Chinese.  
"What are you reading?"  
"Religious texts," Cas replied with an uncustomary lack of inflection.  
"I thought you were all about bibles?"  
"There is religious truth to be found in every religion around the world, Dean. It's a fact I am beginning to realize."  
"I dunno, I met a Hindu goddess once. Didn't find much truth there."  
"That's because you didn't believe in her Dean. You believe in powerful beings, but not in a god or gods. It's a fact of your personality. You can't find meaning in something you don't believe in."  
"Huh." Dean wasn't sure how else to reply. "isn't it kinda...unallowed for you to engage in other religions though?"  
"Dean, I'm no longer an angel. I have free will. I am damn well allowed to d o whatever the fuck I want." The profanity sounded forced, like Cas was trying to prove a point.  
"Oh."  
"Hey Winchester!" Josephine belted from the back of the store. "Found a book for your little brother!"  
"I'm coming." Dean stomped off to where Josephine was calling.  
Cas huddled closer to the shelf behind himself. It was reassuringly large in a world that still frequently felt far too big for his newly-tiny self. These books - as diverse as they were - were still part of that final, minuscule connection back to god.  
He would take it where he could get it.  
He began singing Psalm 139 quietly to himself.


End file.
